


A Grace too Powerful to Name

by Fangirlshrewt97



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Booker is haunted, But mostly this fic is me hurting Nicky and Booker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness for Booker, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joe's artistic skills, M/M, Nicky is kind, Team as Family, Thoughts about Booker's fate, and Joe is learning that anger hurts the one who feels it as much as the one it is aimed at, before making them feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlshrewt97/pseuds/Fangirlshrewt97
Summary: Making up his mind, Nicky stepped into the counter, purposefully being loud enough to alert Booker to his presence. He saw the tension snap into his shoulders, saw how the man curled himself into a coil ready to flee at a second’s notice. He didn’t acknowledge Booker at first, just moving past him and going to the cabinet, pulling out a packet of chamomile tea he brought specifically for when he couldn’t sleep. He pulled out a teapot and a kettle he filled it with water.“Tea?” he asked.A sharp inhale told him Booker had been startled he had talked to him at all. Fair enough, these might be the first words he had actually spoken to Booker since their unexpected reunion.Basically, a late night chat leads to forgiveness and comfort for two men who felt they had let each other down.AKA Booker screwed up but you don’t send a man who is suicidal because he is lonely off alone for 100 years.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 57
Kudos: 410





	A Grace too Powerful to Name

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I will get back to my Nile Team Bonding series, but this one was irritating me to get out, so I wrote this first. I will say it is very emotionally intense, but I really liked how it turned out, and I hope you do too. If you do, please let me know with kudos/comments (which can include keyboard smashes, one word comments, or favorite lines!)
> 
> Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, I am just borrowing them temporarily. Also, the section that starts with "What do you want to do now? What are we doing Nicky?" is dialogue that is modified from Doctor Who (Episode: Dark Water, Writers: Steven Moffat, Gerry Davis).  
> Title is from the musical Hamilton, song: It's Quiet Uptown.  
> Enjoy,
> 
> Fangirlshrewt97

It was the middle of the night when Nicky startled awake, the nightmare fading quickly and leaving only the unpleasantness behind. Joe snuffled deeper into Nicky’s neck, tightening his hold around the man. Nicky squeezed Joe’s hand as he counted his breaths until they were under control.

He laid inside Joe’s embrace for a few minutes but when it became clear he was not going to be sleeping soon, he slowly extricated himself. Joe made a noise of protest.

“I’m just going to use the restroom amore.” Nicky said as caressed Joe’s face, waiting

for the man’s face to smooth back into sleep.

Once sure he was asleep, Nicky quietly tip-toed out of the room into the hallway of their safe house. He used the bathroom and then made his way to the kitchen, pausing just before the doorway when he saw the light was open and a familiar blond-haired figure was slumping at the counter.

Mercifully, Booker did not seem to have alcohol anywhere next to him.

Nicky didn’t know what to do with Booker. It had been only eight months into his 100-year exile when Booker had found them again, bringing Quynh with him. It had been a brutal fight, being blindsided by a friend Nicky was ashamed to admit they had given up on. He had always hoped they’d find Quynh, but it had been five centuries. How could anyone survive that with their sanity intact. The three of them had done their best to protect Andy, hell, even Booker had thrown himself on Quynh’s blade, begging her to listen to him, begging her to understand that Andy was mortal now. Quynh had had 500 years to think of nothing but revenge though, and was able to fight them all off before plunging her dagger into Andy’s chest. The rest of them had been paralyzed, stuck to the ground as Andy gave one gurgling gasp before blood welled at her mouth and she collapsed on the ground.

Nile had been the one to rush to Andy, screaming her name and begging her to wake up while Booker had body slammed Quynh, wrestling her until he had her pinned underneath. Nicky had still been frozen, barely able to breath until Joe had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he had inhaled so forcefully he had fallen to the ground.

Joe had immediately crouched to check on him, only to be distracted by Nile’s piercing “Oh my god!”

When they had looked at her lap, they saw the glaze in Andy’s eyes disappearing before a great gasp brought her back. She gave a great groan before collapsing into Nile’s lap again.

None of them had understood why Andy had regained her immortality, but they had all been grateful for it. Even Quynh, after seeing how close she had come to losing Andy forever had calmed enough to talk.

The past few days had been tense and awkward, as people who had known each other for centuries danced around each other like ghosts. Nicky had spent time with Quynh, begging for her forgiveness, offering her a shoulder, and holding her until she slumped against him, exhausted from the emotional drain.

And now, Booker was at the kitchen counter at, Nicky checked the clock at the end of the hallways, at 3 in the morning.

God, it feels like only yesterday when they left him outside Whitby, looking so small. Nicky was the one to push for 100 years of exile. Joe’s anger burned hot, but it was also quick to go out, and Joe had been left with doubt and guilt. Andy knew that punishment needed to given, that some rules and boundaries needed to be set up, even if, at that time, they had been convinced Andy would never see Booker again. Nile, brave and sweet and so, so young, had insisted that abandoning a man drowning in his own guilt was not the answer. But Nicky had proposed the 100 years. Guilt festers and poisons, and loneliness claws away at the soul, aching for something it can never have enough of. Booker had been right, he had never know true loneliness, even when he considered Joe his enemy, at least he had known another soul to suffer the same curse at him.

Making up his mind, Nicky stepped into the kitchen, purposefully being loud enough to alert Booker to his presence. He saw the tension snap into his shoulders, saw how the man curled himself into a coil ready to flee at a second’s notice. He didn’t acknowledge Booker at first, just moving past him and going to the cabinet, pulling out a packet of chamomile tea he brought specifically for when he couldn’t sleep. He pulled out a teapot and a kettle he filled it with water.

“Tea?” he asked.

A sharp inhale told him Booker had been startled he had talked to him at all. Fair enough, these might be the first words he had actually spoken to Booker since their unexpected reunion. He turned to look at him, giving him that look Joe always joked made it seem like Nicky was trying to read his very soul. As if any human had such an ability. But right then, seeing Booker look back at him with a foreign fear in his eyes, shoulders hunched, and knuckles white from how tightly they were clenched in a fist, Nicky thought he might actually be able to do so.

Booker gave him a shaky nod followed by a large swallowing gulp. Nicky looked at him for another second before turning back to the pot to add more water. The two were quiet, only the sounds of crickets in the garden outside filling the room, broken by the occasional hoot of an owl.

Nicky added the chamomile and some mint into the teapot before filling it with the boiled water. He counted the five minutes before pouring the tea into two cups. He placed the kettle and pot next to the sink before taking the cups to the counter, sitting on the opposite side of Booker.

Nicky spied a few drops of blood on Booker’s knuckles, where the man had apparently gripped his own fist so tightly he had made himself bleed.

He laid a gentle hand on top of the fist, making it spring open, and pushed the tea cup between both hands. He kept a light grip on Booker’s wrist until the wound fully faded, and it was impossible to miss the jackrabbiting pulse beneath his fingers.

Only then, he took his own tea, blowing on the surface to cool it before taking a small sip. It was still too hot, and burned his tongue, but the pain was almost welcome, something to focus on.

He was halfway done with his cup before he spoke again. Booker’s cup was still untouched.

“Did you not want tea?”

Booker let out a half-hysterical laugh, sharp and harsh, like it had jagged edges that cut his throat on its way out. He grabbed the cup and downed it in one go, mindless of the still too hot temperature.

“Is that enough Nicky?” He asked, voice hoarse, as though he had been screaming for hours. And who knows, maybe he had been screaming for hours, maybe since they abandoned him outside the pub, screaming inside his own head until he went half insane.

“Why did you try to stop Quynh?” Nicky asked, even as his heart was tearing apart inside his chest, shaming him for his needless cruelty. But as much as he loved Booker, he would not allow more pain for his family.

“Why?” Booker choked out, his face twisting into a mockery of the smirk he used to sport when teasing Nicky. “The deal was never supposed to include you three. I only told Copley about me. I told him you weren’t to be touched. But Merrick twisted Copley, and Copley? He used my demons against me. I never meant for you to get hurt!” he finished, voice bordering on a scream.

Nicky doesn’t let the myriad of emotions swirling inside his chest show on his face. He knew he was pushing the blade deeper, making Booker bleed further. “But we did get hurt Booker. They took me and Joe. I watched them pierce him with needles, cut him open with scalpels, pry open his chest to watch his heart stop. I was awake when that doctor put a syringe in my chest to take out pieces of my lungs, as they took so much blood from us.”

Tears filled Booker’s eyes. He didn’t let them spill.

“Cosa vuoi da me?” _What do you want from me?_ “What penance more can I pay to seek forgiveness Nicky? You have already told me to stay away from you for a 100 years. I was intent on keeping that promise. I tried to stay away from you all.”

Nicky watched him impassively, even as he yearned to hold him.

Booker, Sebastien Le Livre, the man who loved so much, who had a heart so large, he was still loyal to a family he had lost 150 years ago, who still kept the vows to a wife he buried three lifetimes ago. Booker, the man who when he was able to stay away from the bottle demonstrated an intelligence so bright and cunning, Nicky was left in awe of him, who could make Joe laugh so hard he fell off the couch. With a empathy for Andy’s loneliness so profound, she confided the hurt of Quynh to him in depths she had never trusted Joe and Nicky with. Who had eyes so kind, even the most terrified kids were not afraid of him, despite his face resembling that of their tormentors.

Nicky’s heart ached with how much he loved him. His heart ached with how much he mourned his loss during his exile.

Booker staggered away from the counter, head hanging low, swaying, with hands clenched in tight fists. He looked so small and lost.

Nicky finished the rest of his tea, which had gone lukewarm, and washed the two cups, placing them on the drying rack. He wiped his hands with the towel hanging nearby and turned to see Booker.

The man looked him in the eye, gaze lost and desolate, looking as if he was waiting to be executed.

“What do you want me to do now? What are we doing, Nicky?” His voice sounded so fragile.

Nicky pursed his lips into a thin line as he looked down at his own hands, bringing them to cross across his chest.

“Go to hell.”

Booker gave a pained exhale, biting his lip and nodding his head. “Fair enough. Absolutely fair enough.”

He turned, gripping the counter to steady himself. He had only taken two steps when Nicky spoke again, this time right behind him.

“Booker?”

The Frenchman looked at the ceiling before turning to see Nicky.

“Where are you going?”

“What?” Booker choked out.

Nicky projected his movements, not wanting to spook him further. Slowly, he raised his hand to Booker’s head, gently setting it on top of his head. A noise like he had been shot escaped Booker.

“You asked me what we are doing. I told you. We are going to Hell. Or wherever it is that your demons reside. Wherever it is, we are going to go there together and we are going to slay them. And then, we are going to come home. Together.”

“You’re..” Booker hiccuped as a tear made it’s way down his cheek. “You’re going to help me?”

Nicky softened as he moved his hand from the top of Booker’s head to cup his cheek, tugging him slightly closer. Booker swayed to him as though on puppet strings. “Oh carissimo mio, why wouldn’t I help you?”

Booker blinked and gave an incredulous chuckle. “Because of what I did, I got you and Joe…”

“You got us kidnapped and nearly locked away. You betrayed us. You betrayed our trust. You betrayed our friendship, our family. You betrayed everything.” Nicky said matter-of-factly.

Each sentence just made the pain grow in Booker’s face as he curled inward. “Then, why would you help me?”

But Nicky was done letting him push his demons down until they suffocated him. He pushed his hand to make Booker look at him before bringing his other one to cup his face with both of them.

“Sebastien,” he breathed, eyes welling up with tears of his own, “Why?” he asked.

He curled his hands behind Booker’s ears. “Do you think we care for you so little that betraying us would make a difference?”

Those were the magic words it seemed, because Booker let out a loud ugly sob before folding down like a house of cards, pulling Nicky with him. Nicky brought them a little closer to the counter before leaning on it, tugging Booker into his lap. The man came easily, tucking his face underneath Nicky’s chin as his knees folded into his chest. He clung to Nicky’s shirt with both fists, and his cries seemed for an attempt to catch air that wasn’t entering his chest. Nicky pulled him tight against himself, curling one arm around his shoulders and another around his waist. He brushed a kiss to the lax golden hair.

Nicky slowly began to run the hand that had been wrapped around Booker’s waist up and down his spine, content to stay there as long as his brother needed him. Each cry from Booker, each tear, every second of loneliness they had let him stew in, they were a sin Nicky needed to pay his own penance for.

No more. No more isolating the one person who needed them to stay afloat, no more removing the lifeline of the man hanging on by a thread.

When Booker’s sobs finally quietened down, but his shoulders still trembled, Nicky spoke.

“Sebastien,” Nicky began, voice soft and quiet, as though these words were too delicate to be spoken loudly. “We punished you for your actions, we were pushed by anger, blinded by the betrayal and hurt. We demanded you repent your actions, survive with only your guilt for company. Your mistake was not coming to us. Our mistake was letting you think you couldn’t. In that sense, we are the ones who need your forgiveness.”

Booker’s grip on Nicky’s shirt had grown tighter with each of Nicky’s proclamations, his tears soaking the front of it. At Nicky’s last declaration, he made a wounded noise before moving back just enough to be face to face with Nicky, bringing the hand not clutching Nicky around his neck, tugging him to rest his forehead against his own.

“No Nicky, I have done nothing to be able to forgive you. I swear to you, for the rest of my life, for the rest of my deaths, they are yours. I am yours. I will never betray you again. Just.” here Booker cut off to work out a sob. “Just please. Don’t send me away.” he begged, holding Nicky close, as though if he loosened his grip, the world would dissolve to ashes.

“Sebastien,” Nicky murmured in the scant space between them, “we just want you to come home. We just want you to be happy.”

Booker started to cry again, shifting so his forehead briefly leaned against Nicky’s jaw before resting it against his shoulder.

“Thank you.” he whispered, the words heavy with gratitude and desperation.

Nicky’s thumb brushed the of Booker’s neck, running his finger over the topmost vertebrae he could feel lying just beneath his finger. His Atlas bone. How many worlds of grief had Booker been carrying by himself, resigning himself to his fate?

“I love you Booker.” Nicky whispered as he pressed another kiss to the top of Booker’s head, staying there until Booker got heavy with exhaustion.

Moving slowly, both men rose from their position against the kitchen counter, and Nicky could see the faintest tendrils of dawn starting to filter through their windows. He cracked his back to work out the knots that had formed there before grabbing Booker’s hand and leading him to his own room.

He helped the Frenchman undress before tucking him into his bed, pressing one final kiss to his forehead before leaving. He returned to the kitchen and filled a cup of water that he left by Booker’s bedside before finally returning to his room.

He paused at the door when he saw Joe sitting up against the headboard.

“Tutto bene, amore mio?” Joe asked, extending his right hand out to Nicky.

Nicky gave a tired nod, moving forward until he tangled his fingers into Joe’s and let himself be pulled into Joe’s side.

“Sorry I took so long to come out.” Nicky mumbled into Joe’s chest.

“I think I am the one who needs to apologize actually.” Joe murmured into Nicky’s hair.

Nicky squinted at Joe, confusion evident on his face.

Joe tsked, pointing to his lap, where Nicky now saw he had his sketchbook open to a drawing of…

Nicky’s breath hitched.

There, in pencil and Joe’s delicate lines were Nicky and Booker, curled into each other, holding each other as anchors.

“I left as soon as I saw. I had just gotten worried that you took so long to come back. Forgive me for drawing this. If you want, I can destroy it.”

“No!” Nicky said too quickly, sitting up and taking the paper, tracing the lines. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing. Sebastien was crying. You were holding him. That was enough.” Joe said.

“You’re not angry I comforted him?” Nicky said, looking at Joe from the corner of his eye.

Joe gave a bark of harsh laughter. “Mio cuore, do you believe me to be so cruel as to ask you to deny our brother your compassion and love?”

Nicky’s gaze melted. “Of course not.” His fingers curled around the picture. “I know Booker has a lot to make up for. What he did was not right, and that just because we did not notice him spiralling does not mean his mistakes are on us. But I cannot accept that we are entirely blameless in the actions he took either.

Joe grabbed Nicky’s palm, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I was so angry at first, I thought he was so wrapped up in his self-destructive behavior, he was ready to let us burn with him. But then, I was angry at myself, for not noticing. And seeing him tonight? Whatever embers of anger I had left have been well and doused my darling. Our brother’s heart has been bleeding for over two centuries now. He kept silent about it for so long, but now we know. It is time we help him get better.”

Nicky swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Non ci sono abbastanza parole nell'universo per dirti quanto ti amo, amore mio”.

Joe just smiled at him and tugged him to press a kiss to his lips, Nicky curling his free hand behind Joe’s neck to keep him where he wanted. When they parted, Joe glanced at his drawing.

“I think it should have a name. Ideas?”

Nicky looked at it and smiled.

“Absolution.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> what do you want from me? - cosa vuole da me?  
> Oh, dearest - Oh, carissimo mio  
> All good, my love? - Tutto bene, amore mio?  
> my heart - il mio cuore  
> there aren't enough words in the universe to tell you how much I love you my love. - non ci sono abbastanza parole nell'universo per dirti quanto ti amo amore mio.
> 
> If you liked the story let me know! If you want to come chat, find me at fangirlshrewt97.tumblr.com


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